It's not the fact that I'm running behind. The days when I prided myself on wrapping things up early are long gone.

The more time that goes by, the less of it I seem to have.

Yet that's not the reason this Christmas seems different. Even when life has been at a breakneck pace, that hasn't sapped my spirit. The season has always felt warm and festive.

But not this Christmas. Not so far.

Not in the wake of the horrific rampage in Newtown, Conn. one week ago today.

Like so many people, I am still struggling with the unthinkable. The faces of 20 beautiful children haunt me as do those of the six valiant women who tried so hard to save them. I can't get them — or their grieving families — out of my mind.

Maybe that's because I keep trying to make sense out of something that defies rational explanation. I can't stop asking "Why?" — a question I know has no answer.

But that is not the only thing I am asking myself. There is another gnawing question: How did this world of ours come to be in such a terrible state?

That is not a good feeling to have four days before Christmas.

I'm not alone. In almost every conversation I've had in the past seven days, talk has turned at some point to the Sandy Hook tragedy.

Yet not always in the way I've expected.

Sure there are many who are sad — and, yes, angry. I think deep down we all are. But there are others for whom Sandy Hook has shone a light on their own lives.

The other day, a friend, the doting mother of a 5-year-old, remembered hearing the awful news. She was with her daughter who loves to hide a coin in her hand, then asks mom to guess which one.

"Mommy, mommy, let's play the game," the little girl said.

My friend, busy with a zillion other things, said "No, not right now."

And then she saw a Facebook post telling her that 20 little kids had been brutally executed. Kids just a shade older than her daughter.

"I told my daughter let's play that game. Right now," my friend said.

Later that same day, I spoke with a family member who has had more than his share to bear. After years of caring for his beloved wife who has Alzheimer's, he himself has been stricken with an inoperable cancer.

I touch base with him regularly and he never ceases to amaze — and cheer me — with his uncomplaining attitude and his courage.

This particular call was no exception. He didn't want to talk about him. He wanted to talk about Sandy Hook.

"What we've got is nothing compared to what those poor people in Connecticut are going through," he said.

Maybe that's what the rest of us spared the agony of Newtown should take away from all this: that we should focus on what we have, not what we've lost, and celebrate with those we love.